High drama of worthy of Shakespeare is taking place in the presence of the Senate Intelligence Committee today.
It ultimately breaks down to this:
TRUMP: Will no one rid me of this meddlesome FBI Director?
SESSIONS and ROSENSTEIN: (mount up and ride toward Canterbury)
TRUMP: He’s dead! We killed him!
ROSENSTEIN: WTF? Jeff and I just went to Rochester to tour the castle and have some pub food. We didn’t kill anyone. Although we did kind of tag somebody’s bumper in the parking lot. Sorry.
COMEY’S GHOST: I am the campaign’s spirit, doomed for a certain term to walk the night and for the day confined to fast in fires till the foul crimes done in my days of nature are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid to tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, thy knotted and combinèd locks to part, and each particular hair to stand on end, like quills upon the fretful porpentine.
…But this eternal blazon must not be to ears of flesh and blood.
SENATE: That’s fine. We’ll be glad to hear what you have to say in closed session.